Dear Diary – note to self: Don’t drink in public

Found old entry from the 80s:

Dear Diary,

It’s the morning after the night before. I’m not quite sure what the hell happened last night, but I have a vague recollection of how it all started.

Now, I was going to my friend Aldo’s restaurant, right, with a couple of friends. It’s my favourite restaurant, mind you, and Aldo has a way to persuade me into buying that expensive wine that I like. That goes straight to my head.

We were sitting there waiting, right, then we’re having an excellent meal, the wine is even more excellent, my friends – a couple, of course, were getting rather touchy/feely and I felt a bit left out. I looked around, couples couples couples everywhere. Needless to say, it was a bit unfair.

So I ordered another bottle. At this point I’ve stopped caring about the soddin’ couples surrounding me everywhere. Being who I am, and not having performed a song for a while, I rather felt like doing one. I thought, “I wonder what would happen if I just got up and started singing…?”

It’s kind of like when you sit across from someone and think, “If I just spat on her RIGHT now…” or “If I start screaming really loudly…” The ‘what if’ scenarios are rather intriguing, if you ask me. Besides, for some reason, people find it even more shocking when it’s someone like me acting out of character.

Suddenly I found myself serenading all the diners, singing, “To all the girls I’ve loved before.” Don’t ask. Imagine, right, me going, “To all the girls I’ve loved before, who travelled in and out my door, I’m glad they came along, I dedicate this song to all the girls I’ve loved before. The winds of change are always blowing and every time I try to stay the winds of change continue blowing and they just carry me away” I wish it was a joke, but it’s not. Unfortunately. (But hey, at least it suits my voice!)

The guys didn’t seem too impressed, I seem to recall. A couple of women were quite taken with it, though, I think. I believe I asked one if she wanted to go with me, and she was about to answer when her boyfriend – I presume – stood up and it’s the classic scenario when the boyfriend is like 8 feet tall and makes you look like an ant in comparison.

After much consideration, and with a little help from Aldo and a few waiters, I decided to leave. I grabbed the bottle, raved down the street to some club and picked up some… whatever it was. Woke up this morning in an unknown room with an elephant sitting on my head (or so it felt) and someone in the shower. Decided to leg it before I was reminded of what I’d picked up and am now home. Feel slightly bad, but hey… life is life etc.

Aldo just called and said I didn’t have to return to his restaurant until I found it convenient to not make a fool of myself and upset his guests in the process. Added I was most welcome back, but that the wine would be limited to one bottle. Unfair. All I did was do what I usually do on a stage. I’m sure I’d get the chick if her damned boyfriend wasn’t there. I’m sure I could have taken him on – if he hadn’t been like 10 feet.

Oh well. I’m sure by the turn of the decade, the 90’s, there will be some sort of method to make me look like I’m 10 feet tall as well. Could of course consider high heels. In the meantime, I’ll keep telling myself I’m 6ft.

George xx PS: WHY can’t I get the f*cking song outta my head!? “To all the girls I’ve loooved befoooore….”

Dear Diary – note to self: Don’t talk to Geri

I’m f*cked. I met up with Geri, right, after God knows how long and we had dinner, a bottle of wine – or three – and I found myself eeeeeeeeeever so sliiiightly inebriated. Geri talks about something, I reply something, I’m not even sure what we’re talking about, suddenly she asks me a question, looking anxiously at me, awaiting an answer. She looked so eager, bless her, so I said, “Yes…?” and she threw herself around my neck, so I guessed I’d said the right thing. Then we drank some more.

The morning after, around 2pm, I checked voicemail and was met with about 14 new messages from Geri saying how excited she was that I’d said yes to perform at some concert. I skipped through and eventually reached the one saying “Royal Albert Hall”, so I called my manager who said he was absolutely delighted and had already called the Hall and confirmed I was going. When did anyone stop for a second and ask me? Well, besides Geri, obviously?

Minutes later Geri was at my door, hammering, making me get out of bed. (Oh, WHY why why?) I opened up, she came in, all boobs and flesh on display, and looked like a kid who’s just won a candy shop. Literally jumping up and down thrilling, “Are you ready to rehearse our duet yet?” and my initial reaction was, “Scuse me!?”

Apparently I agreed to that too. (Note to self: never drink near Geri again.)

Against my better judgement I got in the car with her and we drove down to the studio – that had also been miraculously booked. I started wondering if I was living in some parallell universe where everyone else had made plans for the past month without including me, or given me amnesia or something. We got into ‘my’ studio, Geri pulled out a tape and put it on. It sounded sort of like “Faith” meets “Candle in the wind” on speed. The lyrics went something like this:

George (me): “I thought it would be nice… to sing with Geri”
Geri: “Geri”
George: “But even great minds are sometimes wrong”
Geri: “Wrong”

George: “What a ****ing great idea this turned out to be”
Geri: “Be”
George: “I wish I was home watching TV”
Geri: “TV”
George: “Instead”
Geri: “Instead”
Both: “Insteaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad”

Then I said something insulting about Geri’s voice, and there was uncontrollable giggles for the next two minutes. Then, the morning after, however, she was looking at me – not giggling – with her hands on her hips. “What do you mean my voice is weak?” and I said, “Darling… it is…” and wrecked my brain for something reasonable to add, “…weakER than, say, mine. Love.” She thought about it for a second, and somehow seemed to agree with herself. And me. That I was right.

So we threw that particular idea away. A cover version then, I thought.

“You’re the one that I want?” she suggested.
I suggested no.

“Careless whisper?” she suggested.
Also a no.

“How about I just sing a song on my own without you?” I suggested.
She said she hadn’t heard that song.
I said she was clearly misunderstanding what I was trying to say, adding, “I don’t think we should do this duet” upon where she said, “Nope, haven’t heard that either.”

An hour later she slammed the door in my face and said I was an uncaring *******. Three minutes later she came back and apologized and said I was very caring in some ways, and was very glad I was doing the concert, but not too pleased about brushing our much anticipated duet plans under the carpet. “I’ve even told my Mom,” she said, giving me big eyes. I said nothing. Geri knows that means I’ve made up my mind. I have principals, I do!

To cut a long story short, we got back to the drawing table, as it was, and I suggested some new lyrics to a new song.

“One fine day we’ll be alright
Cause I know – the tears of a child
Won’t go in vain
And that long lost love
That you’d thought would never come
Won’t be long till paradise

All the trials and changes in life
Are just windows that help us
See the wrong from the right
I’ve been down before now baby
Had my face kicked in the dirt
But there’s an answer, little one
Up above

Let your shame go
Let it subside
Cause nobody’s perfect
And you’re not alone
Forget about the past
The future’s looking bright
Won’t be long till paradise.”

I was quite pleased with myself, actually. Geri didn’t look impressed. Well, at first she did, until I said there was no way I could make it into a duet. She rushed me to try again, but I don’t take instructions from anyone. If people tell me what to do, I will do the opposite, so I said, “No. No, I can’t do it again”, stood up and left. Then came back, took my new song, and left. Then came back again, brought my bag, my song, and left. Then realised I didn’t have a car, so I had to call for backup. Then realised I’d left cellphone somewhere I couldn’t remember, so had to go to nearest payphone, only to realise I didn’t have coins, and basically had to beg some guy for 50p. He said he’d give me a quid for an autograph. (Is that all I’m worth nowadays? A QUID!?) I finally made the call, only to be pestered by some annoying lady with a kid who had to make a call “five minutes ago”. Honestly!

Nobody were bloody available (why do I pay these people?!) so I had to walk home on my own. I thought of taking the bus, but unfortunately there is no bus from my studio to my front door. And last time I took the bus it cost like 35p. Which – at this point – I didn’t have. Should make call to local authority and make it happen. What if someone really needs to go from my house to my studio and don’t – for some reason – have a car? What then? Walk? What if it rains? No, this should be dealt with, and properly! First thing in the morning.

Now, not sure if this duet will go away or not, but I guess I really do have to do the concert. My fans are getting excited, I’ve called the Royal Albert Hall twice and they have confirmed that “George Michael is playing, yes”. One gave me an attitude when I said who I was. B*tch. It’s been a while since I was last onstage properly. Maybe I’ll just mime “Amazing” and throw in “Father Figure”, “Fastlove” and “Freedom 90″ for the heck of it. Or maybe, just maybe, I should do the lobster suit. Kenny says it makes my arse look nice. And after all, what more can one want?

George xxx

PS: Cannot believe Robbie used the CD case to “Patience” as cover for compilation CD for Matt Lucas’s 30th birthday. B*stard.